


South Park x Reader Imagines

by LucieNeedsSomeSleep



Category: South Park
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Gen, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucieNeedsSomeSleep/pseuds/LucieNeedsSomeSleep
Summary: Here are some South Park x Reader Imagines, that you can also find on Wattpad under Luciefer666. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. Please send me requests it will make me very happy :D I will write about everything (except non-con/underage) If you want a different pronoun in your imagine please let me know!





	1. Chapter 1

One of the Boys- Kyle x Fem!Reader

based of a song of the same name by Katy Perry

You don't know the exact moment when you fell in love with him. It seemed like it had always been there, blooming like a seedling. The only problem was: he saw you as just one of the boys. The friendships with the boys of South Park had always been easier than the ones with the girls. All the girls wanted to do was gossip and draw unicorns in glitter pens and fawn over Orlando Bloom. But you were the type to climb up the biggest tree just because Cartman bet you couldn't do it. The countless times you had broken an arm or ripped your new clothes were always overshadowed by the mud-covered smile you always wore. You were ready to try anything for a dare, all to impress the certain red haired boy. Like the time you saved the screaming girls from a spider, or burped the entire alphabet for $5. At the time, you were in 4th Grade.  
“Hey (Y/N), do you want to play baseball at lunch?” Stan asked, leaning onto your desk. Ms Choksondik was marking papers at the front, seemingly not able to hear you two talking.  
“Sure! But I want to bat first.” You said. Kyle leaned forward, joining the conversation. You felt your ears blush red at the tips and tried really hard not to stare.  
“I think Kenny already called dibs on batting first.” He said apologetically. You shrug.  
“That doesn't matter, I'll still beat his team.” They laughed, knowing that it was probably true. The bell rang, and Ms Choksondik set the class free.  
“You coming now, Dude?” Stan asked you, putting his stuff away in his bag. You shake your head.  
“No, I've got to get my lunch from my locker.”  
“Okay, see you later.” Kyle said, high-fiving you before he left with Stan. You stand there, in the classroom, stunned. Why does he only see me as a little sister? You think. What am I doing wrong? You know that he used to date Rebecca and he always hugged her when they said goodbye. You know you're not dating him, but why won't he hug you too? He hugs Stan, sometimes. Wendy notices your frown and walks over.  
“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” She asks, concerned. You two weren't the best of friends, but that doesn't mean you hate each other.  
“What am I doing wrong?” You cry, covering your face with your hands. “Is it because I'm ugly?”  
Wendy sits you down back in your seat. “No, You're not ugly. It's a boy, isn't it?”  
You nod and she sighs. “Look, (Y/N). Boys are idiots. They want a girl who acts like... a girl. You're too much like them, so they feel threatened by it.”  
For him, you'd do anything- even if it meant joining the girls. “Will you help me? Be a girl, I mean.” She squeals and claps her hands.  
“Of course I will! You're going to love it, the other girls have wanted you to be in our group for ages!”

Wendy became your best friend, and with the aid of the other girls, began your transition into a super-girly-girl all for Kyle. They were confused at first why you stopped hanging out with them, but over time, they learned to accept it. You were still friendly with them, but you didn't hang out as much anymore in case you got your skirt dirty. You were now in your junior year in South Park High. You were sat with the other cheerleaders in the canteen, eating your lunch and laughing with the other girls. Wendy tapped you on the shoulder. “Kyle's looking at you.” You turn bright red and try to look over your shoulder inconspicuously. Sure enough, he kept staring until he caught your eye. You took a sharp turn back to Wendy. “What do I do? What do I say?” You whisper yelled. She chuckled. “Just act normal, pretty. Oh My God he's coming over.” She said, staring behind you. Your eyes widen as you stared at your half-eaten lunch. Quickly, you smoothed down your hair and ran your tongue over your teeth to make sure there isn't any food stuck. “Hey (Y/N).” His voice was so much deeper than it was as a child, and you had to stop yourself from shivering. Act Normal. You turned on your seat and looked up at him. He was so tall now. He still wore his hat, but his hair wasn't the poofy Jew-fro it used to be. You kind of miss it. You stand up from your seat. “H-Hey Kyle. What's up?” You said, mentally cursing yourself for stuttering. He fixed the hat on his head and his cheeks were tinted pink. “I just wanted to ask, well if you wanted to of course, go on a date with me? There's a basketball game on Saturday and I got an extra ticket if you're still into it?” You're sure you felt your heart stop for a second. He's asking me on a date?! Your thoughts scream. “Yeah, I'd love to go. I'm still really into sports and stuff.” You mumble, feeling the stares of the other girls on your back. He smiled and you melt a little bit. “Cool. I'll pick you up at seven?” He asks. You nod, and he wraps his arms around you in a hug. It only lasted around 5 seconds but it was the best hug you had ever had. “See you then.” He said.  
“See you.” You said. He began to walk back to his table. “And Kyle?”  
He turns back around. “Yes, (Y/N?)”  
You high-five him.


	2. Space Oddity- Craig x Fem!Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell in love with this idea and had to write it. Please listen to Space Oddity by David Bowie when reading this, as it will make the story more atmospheric. I'm also considering handing this in as creative writing coursework (they don't have to know it's SP fanfiction ;) )

He sat on the hill watching the sky bruise into purple. He remembered when he was a child, when he used to dress up as a spaceman and wish he was up there, among the stars. Sometimes he felt like they were his only friends. He knew they were always there, the smattering of silver freckles on night's face, even when the clouds covered their brightness. He sat in the wet grass every night to see them, his cigarette smoke fading into the darkness. This was his only peace. His only time to be alone. Then, he heard the squelching of her shoes as she trekked up the hill and her heavy breathing into the cold air. “Thought you might be here.” She said.   
“I'm always here.” He said. She stood beside him for a second, marveling at how she was the tall one for once. Then she knelt next to him, and plopped herself down.   
“What are you doing?” He said.   
“Sitting.” She said. “Aren't you cold?”   
He felt goosebumps prickle on his arms, but it was a familiar feeling. “Not really.” He said. “Are you?”   
She smiled. He couldn't tell in the dark but he knew. She was always smiling back then. “Of course I'm cold. It's winter and I'm sat outside.” He shook his head and took another drag. The end of his cigarette burned a warm orange. She watched him suck in the smoke and hold it in his lungs for a moment, before releasing it into the atmosphere. “That'll kill you, you know.” She said.   
“I know.” He said. They sat in silence, the wind rustling through the trees in unrest. She pulled out her earphones and offered him one.   
“What is it?” He asked. She grinned, this one visible as the moon peeked out of the clouds to light their faces. “Bowie.” She said. “I heard you like space.”   
He took the earphone. Space Oddity began, and they were plunged in the world of sober psychedelia that only his music could bring. He stared at the stars. They were so close, and unattainable all at the same time.   
“We should get out of here.” He said.   
“I've only just got here.” She said.   
“No, somewhere far away from here.” He said. She laughed, almost doubtfully.   
“Where would we even go?” She said. He stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe.   
“We could go anywhere.” He said.   
“You want me to leave my entire life to go with you, god-knows where?” She said.   
“Yes.” He said.   
“Okay.” She said.


	3. Tattoo Artist! Craig x Reader- Room 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you are unsure, (Y/T) means Your Tattoo and (B/P) means Body Part. I didn't want to just give you a tattoo and a place to put it because they're really personal, and we might have different tastes. Anyway, enjoy!

You missed him. You missed how soft his raven hair felt when you ran your fingers through it. You missed how his deep blue eyes would sparkle in amusement, how they would soften when he looked at you. You missed his love for animals, how he would cradle Stripe like a child. You missed his hands, how the long, white fingers would feel rough against your skin.

 

It had been years.

 

You last saw him leant against the wall, scowling, cigarette in hand. You had spent all night arguing. It should have been a happy time. You had just gotten your acceptance letter to UCLA, to which you had received a full scholarship. It was a dream come true. You were shaking, ecstatic, running to tell Craig. “I got in!” You cried, wrapping your arms around his slender frame. He was stiff as a board. You let go, frowning. “Craig? What's wrong? Aren't you excited for me?” You asked, trying to find out why his face looked like that, so dejected, so hurt, even though he tried to hide it. “Nothing's wrong. I'm proud of you.” He said. “Just, LA is a long way from South Park.”

That was it, the reason why you two broke up all those years ago. You tried to convince him to go with you, to live with you in LA in an apartment together like you'd always talked about. He didn't want to leave South Park. You even said you wouldn't go to UCLA, you'd stay in Colorado just for him. He was worth it. He didn't want to hold you back. So it was settled. He stayed in South Park, you went to California.

 

The first few months without him were hell. You cried yourself to sleep every night, couldn't focus on your lectures, every thought about him and what he was doing. Had he found someone else? Was he happy? Did he long for you the way you longed for him? Then, slowly but surely, you started to heal. You began to make new friends, sleep soundly, work hard. You even had a few relationships, none of which lasted very long, but you didn't mind. You were happy. And yet... he was always in your mind.

 

Six years after you had left South Park, you decided to get your first tattoo. You friend and room-mate had convinced you to get one, after saying you had wanted one for so long. You parked your car in front of the tattoo parlour, grabbing your purse and sliding out. The LA sun warmed your skin as you hummed in pleasure. The cold was the only thing you didn't miss about South Park except... never mind. After a long deliberation, you decided to get (Y/T) on (B/P). It meant a lot to you and your stomach tightened in excitement. The shop was kind of busy, with people getting piercings and looking at the tattoo books. You waited in the queue at the front desk, looking around the walls at the photos and navy blue paint. Your friend had recommended this place, and from the delicacy and beauty of their tats, you knew that you didn't want to go anywhere else. You made it to the front desk, and said “I have a tattoo appointment for (Y/F/N),” to the girl at the desk. She had purple hair with an undercut and a septum piercing. Her name tag said _Claire_ so you knew she was the girl you had spoken to on the phone to book it. She typed something on the computer. “Okay, you're in room 3.” She said. “I just need you to sign these forms and then you can go in.” She handed you a few papers and a pen. You quickly get it done, consenting to the pain it will cause and all the legal stuff. You pass the forms back to Claire, who gives you a “Good Luck!” before you walk off to Room 3.

 

When you reach the third room along the hall, you give a quick knock. “Come in.” A deep voice said. You push the door, and it doesn't budge. You mentally hit yourself and pull the door open. “It's pull not push.” The man said again. You looked up and your heart stopped. There, among the equipment and leather seat, was Craig Motherfucking Tucker. He hadn't noticed you yet, too busy printing a stencil to transfer onto your (B/P) to start the tattooing process. His back was to you, and you could see the drastic change from when you were teenagers. He was not the lanky boy he had once been, and while he was stunning then, he was nothing compared to now. From his back, you could see his strong muscles contract as he moved his arms, which were covered in tattoos. His hair was shorter, but it was still the same: raven coloured and soft. He turned around from his stool and took you in. His blue eyes ran down your body, looking at how you had changed too. You were speechless. He shook his head, and patted the leather chair. It was like the type you get at the dentist, although there would arguably be less pain. “Sit here and get yourself ready.” He said, turning once again to finish his stencil. You walk over, sliding onto the chair. Your nerves started to surface, half-fear of the pain, and half-fear of seeing and talking to the only person you had ever loved. He turned around and started talking you through the process, not saying anything about South Park or you or why he came to LA after making a fuss of you leaving for college. He wiped your (B/P) with an alcohol wipe, and applied the stencil. When it was on, he asked you if it was in the right place, and if the colours were correct, all the professional stuff. Then he began. The needle buzzed when he turned it on, and he placed it on your skin. It hurt at first, like getting an injection a million times in one place, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. “How've you been?” He asked, eyes focused on the tattoo.   
“I've been good, you?” You ask.  
“Fine.” He said.

 

Time passed and he was halfway done with your tattoo. You had been sitting in silence, the sound of the needle being the only sound that passed between you. Slowly, you began to become more annoyed. After all this time, he had nothing to say to you? You decided you would force an explanation. “So, how come you moved to LA?” You said, trying to not sound accusing. He didn't look up, and it seemed like he had been expecting it since the moment you walked in the door to Room 3. “I got offered a job here.” He said. “South Park didn't seem so good any more anyway.” You nodded, trying not to move your body.  
“I haven't been back since.” You said. “Too cold.” You offer with a soft chuckle. He sort-of laughed too, keeping his hand steady as he drew.   
“Yeah, LA is a lot warmer.” He said. Great, you've started to talk about the weather. “How come you haven't been back?” He asked.

“Bad memories.” You said without thinking. He stopped drawing on your body and looked up. The deepness of his eyes were arresting, you couldn't look away.

“I'm sorry about that.” He said. You were shocked. The old Craig Tucker would have never apologised. It seemed you have both grown up.

“I'm sorry too.” You said. “I didn't speak to you about going to college or anything. I didn't even consider your feelings.” You both gave each other sad smiles. He began to work on the tattoo again; it was almost finished. “When I saw your name on the appointment list, I was hoping it would be you.” He said. You didn't know how to answer, and his words hung in the air like cigarette smoke. When he had finished the tattoo, he wiped away the excess ink and gave you a mirror. (Y/T) was beautiful, the skin around it blushed red raw. “I love it. It's just how I imagined it.” You say, beaming. He truly was an incredible artist. He wraps it in plastic wrap to protect it. His hands linger on your body and goosebumps rise to greet his fingers. “All done.” He said. You slide of the chair, missing the familiarity of his touch already. “Hey,” He said. “Want to go get some coffee and catch up?” You smile.

“I'd love to.”

 

 


	4. Stripper!Kenny x reader- Bottom's Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemon ;) still haven't gotten any requests, so if you feel like it, send one my way

The heady red lights dimmed the room and the suffocating heat banished the chill of the night's air. An insipid rap song heightened the ambience of lust, the deep bass pumping through your body. Your heels pinched your toes, having already been out for a couple of hours prior. But, you couldn't complain. It was Bebe's hen party, and she insisted on going to this strip club. Bottoms Up. The name made you cringe. Two very muscular men (wearing nothing but black speedos and bow ties) linked arms with her as soon as she stepped in the door and whisked her away for a drink. They must have seen the bright pink sash saying 'BRIDE TO BE'. You and the other girls followed on, some taking time to peer at the male strippers on stage. One was dressed as Tarzan, humping a toy anaconda. You looked away quickly, hoping to get to the bar to drown out your embarrassment with more vodka. Wendy tapped your arm, her flashing deely-bopper headband bouncing away as she drunkenly leaned in to you. “Let's get drunk!” She said. “And then we can get Bebe a dance!” You raised your brows. “Are you sure? What about Clyde?” You asked, worried it might cause some problems in her relationship. Wendy scoffed, her hand slapping the bar. “Clyde-Schmyde. What he doesn't know, doesn't matter... and she won't even do anything.” She said, and you shrugged. Your slightly-blurred, dizzy mind thought that the explanation was pretty reasonable. The barman came over, wearing more clothes than the other guys. “What can I get you lovely ladies?” He said, winking. You completely ignored his flirtations. “We'll have two vodka and cokes please,” You ordered. Wendy playfully put her hand over your mouth. “What she means is we'll have ten tequila slammers for the table.” You laughed loudly. Wendy knows how to party. You went halves with her, as even though she is the maid of honour, you can't let her pay for everything all night. The barman put the shots on a tray, the glasses rimmed with salt, and a small bowl of sliced lemons. You and Wendy carried it over to where Bebe and the rest of the girls had sat, both of you carrying the tray because you're clumsy in heels and Wendy had at least 5 cocktails in the last two hours. The tables were actually booths, shaped in a semi-circle, around a small, round stage. The stage had a long stripper pole that reached the ceiling, and a policeman dancing around it. You slid in on the booth next to Red, kicking off your heels. Your toes breathed for a while and were able to stretch. Wendy stood at the head of the table, her shot held up in the air. “I'd like to make a toast.” All the girls picked up their glasses and raised them. “Bebe, enjoy the rest of the night, because it's the beginning of a new chapter and there's no better people to share it with than your best friends. Sunshine!” She called. The rest of you shouted “Sparkle!” and downed your shots. The tequila burned deliciously in the back of your throat, and the lemon was acrid and bitter. 

The policeman stripper that had been entertaining your table left to go on a break. For a while, you all just sat together, laughing as you sipped Cosmopolitans through penis-shaped straws. Wendy had forgotten her promise of getting Bebe a lap-dance, and you relaxed in your seat. The lights around the stage were off, but you saw the shadow of someone stepping on. You tapped Red's arm, telling her that the show is about to start. The lights began to flash alongside the music; artificial smoke rolled over the sides of the stage. A white spotlight illuminated the pole and the man that danced around it. You were mesmerised. The male stripper was dressed as your all-time-favourite superhero, Mysterion, just in a more form-fitting spandex to show off those killer abs. He was very lean, not somebody who lifted weights in a gym, but someone who clearly worked hard doing manual labour. You supposed his strength from gripping the pole had something to do with that. The way his muscles tightened under his tanned skin sent your heart racing. Your drink was long-forgotten, your attention solely focused on the hot dancer on the stage. He obviously noticed your awe of his body and smirked. Fuck. You felt yourself growing hot, the fabric of your underwear dampening. You crossed your legs together to give yourself some relief from the growing ache. Your short dress rose as you moved, and you noticed his eyes staring at your exposed thighs. You wanted him in the most basic human way, and God, he wanted you too. 

After his set ended, he was replaced by another man. You couldn't focus on the other dancers, your mind hazed with the dizzying concoction of alcohol and lust. You picked up your drink and looked around while sipping. Then, by the staff room, you saw him. He looked just as hot leaning against the door as he did when gripped to a pole, sweat glistening over his muscles. He saw your interest and tilted his head. He wanted you to go over to him. You knew what it would mean, and you couldn't wait. You slid your heels back on, the pain worth it. “I'm just going to the restroom.” You tell Red. Then you stood, eyes trained on him. As you walked forward, your stomach tightened slightly with nerves. Then he was in front of you, tall and sexy, and all worries flew out the window. “Hey.” He said into your ear, leaning in to be heard over the pulsing music. “Hi yourself.” You said back.   
“I'm Kenny.”  
“(Y/N).”   
He slid an arm around your waist. His touch raised goosebumps on your arms, and you moved closer to him, pressing against his chest. “Want to be alone?” He whispered, his hot breath dancing across your shoulder. You nodded, unable to form words. He took your hand and led you to the restrooms. 

He pushed a door open and you entered after him. He slid the lock to make sure no one interrupts as you looked around at the dingy area. You were usually not the kind of girl to have a one-night-stand in the men's toilets in a strip club, but there's a first for everything. He bent down to kiss your neck, his lips chapped, rough against your skin. You were pressed against the door, chest to chest. Sliding a hand down, you ran your fingers against his muscles that had you in awe minutes ago. As you hooked your hand under his shirt to pull it off, you felt the warmth of his skin and the soft movements of his abs as he breathed. Kenny removed his lips from your neck as you took off his shirt, and you almost whimpered at the loss of contact. Jesus Christ. You'd never been this needy for someone. His hands were callused and experienced as he touched you. You barely contained a soft moan as his hand danced over your breasts, then ran down your stomach towards where you needed him most. You were pulsing and wet in anticipation. He pushed aside your underwear and slid his finger across your heat, just touching for a second, and then removed his hand. “Stop teasing.” You whispered, capturing his lips with yours. You could taste the saltiness of his sweat and yours combined. You jumped up and anchored your legs against his waist, your skirt sliding up to expose your legs and underwear. You unbuttoned his jeans, the rational part of your lust-filled brain realising that he must have changed clothes from his sexy Mysterion costume. You could feel him pressing against you hard. Kenny rubbed against you, creating friction as he hummed lightly under his breath. He dropped his pants to the dirty floor and teared a condom packet, rolling it on. “Ready?” He asked. You nodded in pleasure, excited to have this gorgeous man on top of you, inside you. He was rough when he thrusted in, filling you deliciously. You moaned loudly when he touched your body, your back slamming against the door. There'll be bruises tomorrow. You succumbed to pure ecstasy as you scratched your nails down his back, leaving small red streaks that made him hiss in pleasure. Sweat dribbled down from the heat of your two bodies, steaming up the mirror. You felt the ball of energy in your stomach come loose like thread being pulled from a skein of yarn. You were close, and you knew he was too from the force of his thrusts. It was definitely a quickie, but you didn't mind. Your sexual tension was too much for a prolonged time anyway. You felt your climax hit you as your body shivered in happiness, head thrown back, screaming his name as you came down from your high. He came soon after, low grunts and his wet hair against your forehead. 

You stayed together for a while, Kenny shaky on his legs, you still pressed against the door. Then slowly you untangled yourself from him and pulled up your underwear and skirt. He took off his condom and threw it in the trash, redressing himself. In the mirror, you fixed your hair and checked if any make-up had ran with the sweat. You looked okay, except for the flushed cheeks. “So, I guess I'll see you around.” Kenny said, unlocking the door.   
“Hey,” You stopped him. “Do you want my number? Maybe we can meet up again sometime.” You said, slightly surprised at your bluntness but certain that you wanted to see him again. He grinned, showing his white teeth with the cute chip on the edge of one. “Sure.” He said, giving you his phone so you could enter your digits. When you returned it to him, you left the restroom without looking back (but you knew he was looking at your ass). You walked back over to your friends, all of them completely wasted. “Hey! (Y/N)'s back!” Bebe screeched squashing your head as she hugged you. Nichole helped to stop Bebe from choking you while Wendy pulled you over to where she was sitting. “Where did you go?” She asked, looking you over.   
“Just to the restroom.” You replied, smirking.


End file.
